


Valier, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi-Age, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ode to seven lovely ladies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valier, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

_Disclaimer:_ All of Arda belong to Professor J. R. R. Tolkien.

 

**The Valier**

  
The number of their names  
is infinite, so it's said,  
as many, at least,  
as there are breathes  
in an Elvish life,  
or silent grains of sand  
since time began,  
or drops of rain.

I've been singing  
since the day I was born.  
Still, I'll never manage  
to complete the litany  
of these faces, and melodies,  
and voices that whisper  
to the Eternal Feminine.

Dusky Vairë, an artist  
and historian,  
drew me into the labyrinth  
with a silver thread.  
And swift Nessa  
led me out again:  
she pierced me with laughter  
and green sunbeams.

Vána is the stirring,  
the flash out of the blue.  
Maidenly Nienna,  
stronger than tears,  
more ancient than hope.  
And Yavanna is the root  
for all the flowers.

Varda the conflagration,  
the tempest and the rose:  
 _Ah Elbereth!_  
A glance of her eyes  
would blind one with joy.

And at last,  
when the music was lulled,  
barely to be heard,  
and the heart  
had broken its fill,  
then Estë laid her fingers  
upon my forehead,  
and I slept  
as softly as snow.

 

_\--after Jaroslav Seifert_


End file.
